


Caliborn ==> Ensue in Midnight Shenanigans

by twii2ted_8333335



Series: Caliborn ==> [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twii2ted_8333335/pseuds/twii2ted_8333335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when you retort with, "Fucking as if. I'm enjoying myself over here. You're actually losing points at this very moment," you can't quite convince yourself that you're lying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caliborn ==> Ensue in Midnight Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not technically supposed to know who Caliborn is (or Dirk for that matter) but this is what I get for listening to cantabileGato's Broadway Caliborn songs.

Your name is now Caliborn, last name unimportant at this time, or any really. Honestly, why would you share your full name with strangers reading about your escapades? They don't need to know everything about your life. They don't need to know every detail about you, or how angry you are at this very moment, or how that anger is directly mainly at one lone Dirk Strider, who, you might add, is a good ten miles distance from you. He's nowhere in the vicinity of your neighborhood, house, room, bed, etc. and yet he is still pissing you off to no end.

You can't even yell right now to get all this anger out. It's nearly midnight, Calliope is asleep in the bed on the other side of the room and you are anything but a quiet shouter. You aren't a quiet talker either, always speaking in disjointed, frustrated sentences. Ones that made your fists clench and your eyes squeeze shut and had the image of Dirk's grinning lips flashing behind your tightly closed lids. You permit yourself growl, brief and low in the darkness. You even go as far as twisting your face slightly into your pillow to muffle the noise, since you're on your side and it's right there anyway. 

Calliope better be fucking thankful for the measures you were taking just so she could sleep easy. Meanwhile you have Dirk stuck in all corners of your head keeping you up. Dirk, snapping your suspenders in greeting or just to hear you shout at him. Dirk, grinning that smug grin when he knows you've lost an argument but keep talking anyway in a desperate grasp at not wanting to lose to him. Dirk, with his stupid anime terminology. Dirk, calling you a tsundere little bastard and teasing you about how the only word you know is baka. (You can't help it If it's the only one you find applicable.) 

Dirk, with his stupid deceivingly soft hair, and his ridiculous glasses, and his habit of running his hand through your hair when you're legitimately too upset to argue with him, and his stupid, stupid, stupid everything.

You growl again, more frustrated than angry. You have the memory of his fingers in your hair and wish that's where they were now too. You wish he wasn't across town in another bed, far, far away from you, and you wish you could shut your brain off so you wouldn't want him in your bed, stroking your hair, your cheek, your neck.

A shudder rips through you despite the warmth of your blankets. The phantom touch your mind has created is following your thoughts, much to your chagrin. You can feel the warmth of his fingers, his palm, gloveless for once, running along the bare skin of your neck and even your shoulder. You refuse to move or humor it any longer. You decide you will simply ignore the figment of your imagination as if it were Strider himself. It would leave eventually.

Except it doesn't. 

You're pretty sure it's your own hands after a while, touching your neck and toying with your nipples beneath the thin shirt you're wearing, but with your eyes shut tight you can at least pretend. You can pretend it's Strider teasing you until you're squirming in an attempt to get comfortable; you can pretend when you growl for a third time you're telling him to quit being a cocktease and to hurry up. 

Then your hands — his hands — slide down the few muscles you have in your abdomen and past the waistband of your boxers. One grabs your length, works it slowly to full hardness, while the other tries to shuffle the constricting fabric down without disrupting your ministrations or making so much of a fuss that Calliope wakes. God forbid she sees you masturbating. That's something no sibling should ever have to witness, no matter what terms you're on with each other — which aren't very good ones most days for you two.

There's a brief bubble of hatred, of disgust at both yourself for going through with this and at Strider for enticing you without even being here, but then there's a thumb running along the head of your dick and it takes all your focus not to howl at the spark of pleasure that runs through you. You're oversensitive and tired of holding back and becoming more frantic as this drags on. You need to finish. 

His name is on your lips when you do, though it wasn't the first time you'd said it since picking things up. Your breathing is harsh and too loud in the darkness of your shared room. You really hope your sister is actually asleep, especially when you're getting up to clean and change. You're too sluggish and relieved to try and cover up or make an excuse if she were to question you. 

When you lay back down, you feel drained instead of disgusted. There's no hate, no negativity in your thoughts for once. There's a calmness that you try to welcome but it feels too good to be true. Too surreal and too realistic yet too unrealistic at the same time. You're unused to it. 

You still wish Dirk was in bed with you, stroking your hair and kissing lazily at you. You wish you could muster up the anger from earlier to be mad at your imagination for summoning up the image.

Instead, you simply drift off into the sleep you'd been craving for a while, since you can't hate and want to scream if you're asleep. 

You remember thinking you hate how much you love him, but when the thought comes back I'm the morning, you promptly suffocate it with your pillow and deny it ever came to your mind. And then you're back to your normal loathing self, who denies you ever had thoughts of Dirk Strider that didn't involve brutally murdering him in the best worst ways possible so that one day when you become rich and powerful and make murder legal you have the perfect idea of how to remove the male from your life forever.

And if Calliope makes a comment about the stained boxers you hadn't quite put in the laundry basket, you don't hear her.

And if Dirk starts being a little more touch friendly with you, you blame it on him trying to rile you up and instead do the opposite to throw him off. It, of course, doesn't throw him off, and it escalates further and further until you're sitting in his lap at lunch and his arms are around you and your head is tucked under his chin and he's asking you if you give up this battle yet.

And when you retort with, "Fucking as if. I'm enjoying myself over here. You're actually losing points at this very moment," you can't quite convince yourself that you're lying. 


End file.
